The Girl Next Door Who Became a PornStar…With a lot of meaningless shit to say

Month: April 2014

I just got off the phone with my best friend and second in command. Yes, I’m well aware it’s 530am, but that’s how we roll.

Our conversation began innocently enough. We had our usual bitch fest of people we like, don’t like and people we tolerate. Then somehow the topic made a hard right into sex, (my favorite topic), sexting, and how to keep your emotions out of both. My GBF (Gay Best Friend) and myself find it rather easy to keep our emotions at bay when it comes to sex. Others don’t seem to understand this concept. A certain person who we’ll refer to as “Tolerate,” was listening in on our conversation. She was just recently married and found that it was her duty as a married woman to chime in on a phone call that two very single people were having. Married women tend to do that, don’t they? Married for five minutes and suddenly they forget all the whorish things they used to do and then go on and on about love this and love that. I’ve been lucky enough to have fallen in love twice, but I don’t need to be in love to have sex. GBF and I were discussing that sex is a primal thing and as Tina Turner once said, “What’s love got to do with it?” And Tina was right. Love has absolutely nothing to do with sex. Nothing. Sex was first. Love came later.

Back in the days of burning witches and public beheadings for pure entertainment, (thank jeebus for Game of Thrones) and even long before then, sex was used primarily to procreate, to make babies and heirs to the family fortune. In some religions you couldn’t even touch each other during sex. You had to poke a hole in a blanket and get down and dirty that way and most religions encouraged you to have as many children as humanly possibly. A perfect example of that is that awful show on The Learning Channel no less, called, 19 Kids & Counting. Eventually that poor woman’s vagina is going to throw herself a little prolapse party and bounce. Or fall to the floor. I don’t have the stomach to google that image. In fact, most religions made it very clear that you could not have sex unless you were planning to procreate. There’s that word again. Everyone say it with me now… Pro-Cre-Ate. Very good. See? Sex wasn’t meant for pleasure. But the year is 2014 and many things have changed. Thank you Jeebus! People finally realized they could have sex and enjoy it! And for a small price they could dibble and dabble and play with and do things they never thought possible without having to wine and dine the lady first or bore each other with meaningless conversation. Eureka!

But I digress…

Back to my point (and I think I had one)….wait for it….Ah! Yes! There is nothing foul or impure or wrong about having sex with someone you have absolutely no feelings for whatsoever. We’re animals! Our bodies are designed to have sex. Our bodies are meant to function this way regardless of how you feel about the person. The first thing you immediately notice about someone is their appearance and your attraction toward them. When you see that banging chick or that hot guy, you don’t give a flying fuck and two rolling donuts what they have to say. The attraction always comes first. If the guy who rings the church bells every night while screaming “Sanctuary” suddenly walked into Whole Foods, you’d probably puke in your mouth a little bit. He’s short, has a huge hump on his back, dresses like a hobo. He’s not attractive. Therefore, your loins want nothing to do with him. This dude could have a genius IQ, be incredibly funny and witty, but you or I would never take the time to give a rats piss because he’s unattractive. The first thing I think about when I see a hot guy is “Will he look good on top of me?” If not, I move on. Shallow, but true. Now back to meaningless sex…

I’ll admit, I’ve had sex just to have sex. John Doe was there, I was there. It happens. It was boring. There was no orgasm. This is not the type of sex I’m talking about. I’m talking about the type of sex that you had to hunt for a little, chase a little. The type of sex that doesn’t happen right away, but you could cut the sexual tension with a spork every time you two are in the same room together. There are no feelings involved, but the pharamones are emitting into the air every time you speak, tweet or text. His body wants your body and your body wants his. You need to know what he/she feels like. Even if it’s only once. If it happens more than once, then you have sexual chemistry, but that’s a different blog for a different time.

I’ve always been able to have sex without the feelings and emotions that most people (especially the ladies), seem to lasso around the other person as if they were at the goddamn rodeo. Minus the cowboy boots and chaps. Mommy Dearest told me once I should have been born a male and just last week I was told, and I quote, “you’re just like a dude.” Yeah, a dude in a really hot dress and expensive heels. I learned quickly after high school that just because you sleep with someone that doesn’t mean you two are now “boyfriend & girlfriend.” We’re animals with animal urges and those urges call for sex. Love has zero shits to do with it. That doesn’t mean you have to fuck in the street or in a back alley somewhere. It just means that we were meant to have sex, fuck, making love. Whatever you want to call it. I love having passionate sex. Kissing, looking into each other eyes, being completely aware of the other person, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stalk you on all your social media sites or call (ahem. excuse me…) text you all day long wondering where you are, who you’re with and thinking about baby names.

Quite a few years back, I had sex with this random after a party and he kept trying to convince me that he would call me the next day. Like I gave a shit. I’m not jaded or bitter, I do believe in love, but I’m not worried about whether or not you’re going to call me or this, that and the other. If our sexual chemistry was amazing then sure! Lets make plans to see each other again. Otherwise, it’s been great and I’ll see you around. (ps…he never called).